


where do you keep the catsuits?

by blueshirts



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: (aka the fic where Bucky is a disgruntled sex shop employee), (and Steve is his flustered customer), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sex Shop, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2421737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueshirts/pseuds/blueshirts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was eight in the morning when Steve Rogers walked into the Red Room, and that was an anomaly in and of itself. In all of Bucky's time at the shop, he'd learned that, while it was a rare thing for customers to come in before lunch, it was virtually unheard of for a customer to come in right after opening. And so, even without really knowing him at all, Bucky knew Steve was different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	where do you keep the catsuits?

It was eight in the morning when Steve Rogers walked into the Red Room, and that was an anomaly in and of itself. In all of Bucky’s time at the shop, he’d learned that while it was a rare thing for customers to come in before lunch, it was virtually unheard of for a customer to come in right after opening. And so, even without really knowing him at all, Bucky knew Steve was different.

They didn’t have a bell above the door at the Red Room, for discretion’s sake or whatever, but a tall buff blond guy trying his damndest to appear small was hard to miss anyways. Bucky quickly dropped his feet from the counter and set down the book he’d just cracked open— some bullshit Russian novel he’d been trying to finish for a year now. Normally, he’d leave the customer to himself (again, discretion’s sake), but this guy looked lost. Really lost. Like he’d stumbled into the store on accident while looking for a protein shake store or whatever muscled dude’s shop for, and had instead been faced with a colorful array of dildos.

Bucky sidled up to him, “Good morning. Do you need help finding anything today, sir?” 

The blond guy looked at Bucky like he’d walked up out of nowhere and offered to suck his dick. A little bewildered and intensely grateful.

"I’m just— yeah. Where do you keep the—," he paused, bit the lower half of his impossibly pink lips, and fuck, if Bucky didn’t want to suck his dick before, he sure did now. The guy lowered his voice, as if they weren’t the only people in the store, "—the costumes."

Bucky cocked an eyebrow. Granted, the dude was a perfect stranger (emphasis on the  _perfect_ ), but Bucky wouldn’t have figured him for a roleplay kind of guy. He seemed like he was more of a ‘ten minutes of missionary followed by twenty minutes of cuddling before my evening glass of milk’ kind of guy. Bucky chose not to say any of that aloud.

He showed Unexpectedly Kinky Dude over to their extensive collection of what they claimed were the sexiest clothes in Brooklyn. Kinky Dude whistled low, impressed. Bucky felt oddly proud, like he was personally responsible for the size of their collection. He cleared his throat.

"Need help with anything else?"

Kinky Dude set his jaw and furrowed his brow, apparently remembering his mission upon entering the Red Room.

"Yeah. I’m... not sure what kind of costume I want, actually."

Bucky nodded, already scanning his finger down the labels. “What kind of fantasies are you and your girlfriend into?” he asked. From the sputtering sound that followed, Kinky Dude was either surprised at his question or just a terrible beat boxer. If it was the former… well, what did he expect, coming into a sex shop?

"I— I don’t have a—."

Bucky looked over his shoulder at Kinky Dude, the poor thing. He seemed a little panicked now. Bucky could have kicked himself, making assumptions like that.

"I mean, you and your partner."

Kinky Dude made a noise like a deflating balloon. He was slowly getting more and more red in the face, a look way more flattering on him than it had any right to be.

"I— you know what? He’s really into superheroes. I want to get myself a costume as a surprise for him."

Bucky frowned, and asked, puzzled “And you haven’t tried the costume store?”

"I did. Their costumes aren’t durable enough," Kinky Dude sounded pained.

Bucky blinked thrice in rapid succession because, what the fuck was Kinky Dude planning for his boyfriend where he needed  _durable_ superhero costumes? He wondered if he was even worse a judge of character, and Kinky Dude was actually Costumed Serial Killer Dude.

"Uh," Bucky pulled a random box off the shelf. "Try this. It’s a latex catsuit."

"Latex?" Kinky Dude flattened his oh-so-very-distractingly pink lips, unsure.

"Oh, yeah. It’s got zippers  _everywhere,”_  Bucky leaned in and mock-whispered, _”_ Believe me when I say everywhere.” he opened up the box for Kinky Dude to see, “It’s got some optional color accents too, if you don’t mind paying a bit extra.”

Kinky Dude shrugged, “Anything but straight-up black. I don’t think I could pull off Catwoman.”

Bucky disagreed with him, but that was neither here nor there. He grabbed another box off the shelf, this one a catsuit with blue trim on the collar and red stripes that ran horizontal along the sides of the abdomen. 

Kinky Dude took one look at the picture on the box and smiled.

"That’ll do."

Burning with curiousity but too damn decent to ask, Bucky rung up the catsuit uncharacteristically void of clever comments and snark, only breaking his momentary vow of silence when he glanced at Kinky Dude’s credit card and was saddened to see on it something extremely unlike ‘Kinky Dude’.

"Steve? I was expecting something more along the lines of Hazard or Danger." And, crap, did he really just say that aloud?

"It’s better than Bucky," Steve said, staring pointedly at the name tag on Bucky’s chest. Bucky laughed, having no good comeback for that. He handed Steve his card and his suit (packed away in a nondescript black bag, as per Red Room policy)

Steve paused before leaving the counter, “Hey, do you have any of those comment cards? I’d like to let your boss know how helpful you were.”

And damn, if that isn’t enough to make Bucky’s lust evolve into a full-blown crush. His heart hurt already. He tried to smile at Steve, but it was a bit strained.

"Better not waste your time filling one out. Pierce never reads ‘em anyway."

Steve insisted, though. He borderline threatened Bucky, telling him that if he didn’t give him a comment card, he’d have to sit around until his boss showed up to tell him in person. It was probably an empty threat, and not so much a threat as a treat, but Bucky acquiesced anyway.

As Steve was leaving the store, he paused and looked back at Bucky, one hand on the door, one holding his bag of kink-suit. He raised the hand with the bag and waved. Before Bucky could wave back, he was gone.

*

Steve Rogers never came back to the Red Room, but he did Bucky one better.

It was a Friday night, the half moon was high in the sky and patrons were starting to stumble out of bars and stagger home, and Pierce had only just allowed Bucky to leave. Scowling ferociously, Bucky stepped out onto the sidewalk. He shivered and adjusted his scarf. If it weren’t for Natasha, he’d leave the Red Room. The pay wasn’t good enough to put up with an inconsiderate shitstain like Pierce, and it wasn’t the most rewarding career to begin with.

Crossing his arms to keep the chill from setting into his bones for perhaps a moment longer, Bucky trudged onward. His shitty apartment was normally just a busride away, but buses didn’t run this late. He could walk, just as he’d done what felt like millions of times before.

He passed a quartet of barflies doing a poor rendition of some old Sinatra tune, but as soon as he turned a corner onto a new street, he was alone. Normally, he would have liked that. Being alone. But solitude at one in the morning in a seedy part of town was a whole different beast.

His imagination went wild, turning the wind into screams and the echoes of his footsteps into a looming pursuer. Bucky shivered again, not for the cold, and tightened his arms round himself. He buried his face in his scarf and walked faster.

_Step, step, step._ He felt like shaking his fist at the sky, and ruing the day he ever applied for that job.  _Step, step, step._ Maybe he could get Natasha to agree to a revolution? They could overthrow Pierce and run their own sex shop where everyone’s happy and having sex all the time.  _Step, step, step._ They could call it Happy Sex Time! (complete with the exclamation point).  _Step, shhhhh, step._ Yeah, Bucky liked the sound of that. Happy Sex Time! Maybe he could even get Natasha’s boyfriend Clint onboard. He seemed like a happy individual, and could take over Bucky’s sucky job.  _Step, SHHHHH, step._

Too late, Bucky heard the rustling behind him. He turned around only to have a gun thrust in his face. 

"Holy shit! Oh my God!" He screamed, like a manly man.

"Shut up!" yelled the person brandishing the gun. 

"HolyshitohmyGod," Bucky whispered, because he had to say something, and he wasn’t one to disobey dudes with big, scary guns.

"Give me your money!" The thief commanded. When Bucky didn’t move immediately, he shoved the barrel of the gun even closer to Bucky. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but he could’ve sworn he could feel the cold radiating off the tip of the gun. 

"I don’t have any!" Bucky whisper-shouted. He didn’t beg for his life. He should’ve, looking back on it, but he always was an idiot with self-destructive tendencies.

"You’re lying. Stop lying to me!" The thief like a twelve year old who’d gone through puberty early. Still, he had a gun, and it was right in Bucky’s face.

Bucky slammed his eyes shut, and exhaled. His breath was too shallow. It probably didn’t matter, he thought then. “I’m not lying.”

The thief didn’t respond. Bucky heard a soft  _thump_ followed by a sharp  _crack_ and the gun was out of his face. Someone else had arrived. 

He cracked his eyes, beyond panic now. He felt almost tranquil, resigned to whatever fate had in store for him next. 

Apparently, fate had a kink. A hysterical laugh bubbled up in Bucky’s throat as he took in the sight of an impressive figure in latex standing over the thief’s prone body. The thief was rolling around on the sidewalk, nursing his nose (now bloodied) and moaning piteously. But Bucky didn’t spare a thought for him. 

"Steve?" he asked, utterly bewildered.

The figure in latex turned toward him. He had a mask on, but the blue and red accented- catsuit was unmistakably Steve’s.

"What’s a Steve?" came his muffled reply. And that was too much bullshit for one day. Bucky’s veins were flush with adrenaline and what happened next definitely wasn’t his fault.

Bucky tore his scarf off and whapped Steve upside the head.

“ _You’re_  a Steve.” Bucky cursed loudly enough for both Steve and the thief to hear. He wound the scarf back round his neck, and advanced upon Steve.

Steve took a rapid step back. Bucky took two steps towards him. Steve took another step back. Bucky lunged forward and yanked the mask off him, revealing the identity of the man in patriotic latex to be… who’d have guessed it? Steve Rogers!

"I can explain." Steve tried. His hair was mussed to devastating effect and his blue eyes gleamed silver in the moonlight. Of all the looks Bucky had seen him in (granted, he’d only seen him in two), he thought this was the most flattering.

Bucky crossed his arms and waited for an explanation. Meanwhile, the thief had finally managed to right himself and was making a sad attempt to scramble away. Steve frowned.

"Do you want me to go after him?"

Bucky shook his head. He had bigger fish to fry. Steve saw that he wasn’t going to budge on this and sighed, running a hand through his hair and somehow managing to mess it up even further.

"Fine, I’ll explain. But not out here."

Bucky shivered, suddenly remembering that it was cold outside. He’d forgotten in the excitement and when faced with Steve’s hair. He offered up his apartment, seeing as how they were only a block away by then. Steve agreed, trepidation and something a little less explicable shooting through his eyes as he did so.

*

Right after they arrived and Bucky’d had the chance to scrounge up clothes the right size, he tossed Steve a pair of sweats and an old tee. Steve looked up at him questioningly.

"Isn’t the catsuit a little uncomfortable?" Bucky smiled, knowing full well that it was. Not from personal experience, oh no, just from watching how Steve walked like a lobster had his dick in its grasp.

"A little." Steve valiantly allowed. Then, he hand flew towards the catsuit’s zipper. Bucky inhaled sharply as Steve started unzipping, seemingly unaware of the effect he was having on Bucky.

"I’ll just… be in the kitchen," Bucky blurted, and ran into the nearest room. It was his bedroom, but it would have to do. He couldn’t very well go back out there, not with  _Steve Motherfucking Rogers_  stripping in his living room. Just thinking about it was enough to make blood rush to his face (among other things).

Bucky placed his palms onto his dresser and practiced the deep breathing exercises Bruce the Yogi kept rambling about whenever Bucky rang up his monthly bottle of fruit-flavored lube. Out of nowhere, Bucky wondered what Steve’s favorite flavor was. He seemed like he might go for banana. God, deep breathing wasn’t helping  _at all._

He heard the soft padding of bare feet behind him, and turned around.

"This isn’t your kitchen." Steve said, clearly amused. Bucky mentally scratched out his earlier thought.  _This_ was Steve’s best look— rumpled and wearing Bucky’s clothes. 

"Great observation skills, Captain Obvious. Speaking of which—" the corners of Steve’s smile took a quick southward turn, as he guessed where Bucky was going. "—why have you taken up catsuited vigilantism?"

Steve sighed and glanced at the catsuit, bundled up in his hands.

"I just wanted to help people."

Bucky understood that, sure. But it seemed like an invitation of violence towards Steve, which he couldn’t condone.

"There are better ways of doing that."

"Oh yeah? What would you suggest?" Steve sounded genuinely interested in hearing Bucky’s opinions on the matter. Unfortunately, Bucky didn’t know a whole bunch about helping people.

"Soup kitchens are always looking for volunteers," he shrugged. Then, in a softer tone, he added, "seeking out fights with gun-toting criminals isn’t  _safe,_ Steve.”

Steve laughed, “Neither is walking around the streets alone at night.”

Bucky scowled and snatched the catsuit from Steve’s hands.

"Whatever. I just hope you saved the receipt for this. Pierce is a stickler about that shit."

Steve’s eyes crinkled at the corners and Bucky fought down the impulse to smile back at his big, dumb, beautiful face.

"Aw, Buck, you really do care." 

And, with that, Bucky no longer had to fight down the impulse. He felt personally affronted, and he let Steve know. 

"Me? No. I’ll just never hear the end of it if I give you a refund without the receipt. I swear, Pierce is a sadist and his favorite form of torture is via soliloquy…"

Bucky trailed off. Steve had leaned in to hear him better or something, but Bucky couldn’t help but notice that if he angled his jaw  _just so_ … 

"Steve?" He asked, a question for clarification and permission all in one.

Steve exhaled, his warm breath exciting the nerves in Bucky’s lips and sending screaming signals to his synapses. Fuck it, Bucky thought, and lunged forward to kiss Steve Rogers.

Steve’s lips were soft and plush and (it was probably just Bucky’s imagination, but) they tasted sweet, like candy.

Steve didn’t move, didn’t breathe, for a moment and Bucky was worried he’d read the moment all wrong. He was about to back off and apologize profusely when Steve slipped his tongue into Bucky’s mouth. Embarrassingly, Bucky moaned. Then it was over.

Steve pulled back, his lips shiny with spit and his cheeks flushed with arousal.

"Is this a reward for saving your life?"

Bucky grinned, “Sure,” then he pushed Steve gently towards his bed, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as Steve flopped onto it without even looking as to where he might be falling, “ _that_ was. This sure as hell won’t be.”

Bucky pinned him to the bed and kissed him again, this one more intense, harder, hotter, a promise of something more.

(They didn’t have sex that night. They made out for a bit and turned on the TV just in time to catch the tail end of an old ’60s Batman flick. Bucky fell asleep on Steve’s shoulder before it ended and left a small spot of drool on his t shirt.)


End file.
